


Battle Lust

by Starbooks13



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And Loki Being A Creepy Stalker, F/M, Loki Does What He Wants, One-Sided Relationship, Warning: Loki, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbooks13/pseuds/Starbooks13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Loki thinks on the two warrior women he'd love to get his hands on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sif

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for a fill on Avengerkink, but edited prior to posting here. Enjoy!

                Sif was passion and warmth and _fire_.  She blazed brightly, demanding recognition for her considerable skills.  She was born to be a warrior, and anyone who saw her in battle would not be able to deny that.  

Loki certainly hadn’t, the first time he had seen her fight.  She was a lioness, regal and fierce, her blade a graceful blur as she danced around her foe.  She was every bit as aggressive as his brother, but unlike Thor, she fought with _strategy_.  Sif was to this day one of the few opponents who had defeated him in battle by actually outsmarting him, and he would never make the mistake of underestimating her again.

But though she kept her bloodlust on a tighter leash than Thor, when she let it loose she was a magnificent sight to behold: her long hair flying about her face as she whirled to parry an opponent’s weapon, her blue eyes shining in triumph as she made a killing blow, her lips stretching into a feral grin as blood ran in rivulets down her armor and stained her soft, pale skin.  She took his breath away when she was like this, so wild and untamed, like a force of nature.  It was as though she was one with the thrum of battle, her war cry enough to shatter the soul of any being foolish enough to stand against her.  She was the Goddess of War, and when the All-Father— _not-Father, king, thief, liar_ —had proclaimed her as such none had dared to challenge him.

He has wanted her for years, since the first awkward bloom of adolescence when he began noticing the attractions of the opposite sex—when he first saw her pick up a blade and strike down an opponent in the training ring.  None had been able to deny that Sif was beautiful in any circumstance, with her well-built figure, her lovely skin, her bright eyes, and, of course, her hair, that river of gold, her crowning glory.  But her beauty against the backdrop of a blood-soaked battlefield set his body on fire in a way that no other maiden of Asgard did.  She had been his first “crush,” as the Midgardians called it, and had things proceeded the way his young, still-hopeful imagination had dreamed, she could have been his first love.  

That dream had died the day he realized that, despite her prowess on the battlefield, she was no different from the simpering, fainting maidens she spoke so despairingly of: she was completely infatuated with his brother.  She watched him eagerly, like a loyal dog did its master, always seeking his praise and approval. And not even Loki had denied what a fine fit they were.  They had complemented each other, both in their love of battle and their golden looks.  Nearly all of Asgard was convinced Sif would be Thor’s queen once he took the throne—the few who were not were those maidens who themselves were still vying for Thor’s attentions.

Loki had cut off her hair that night, after he had seen the way she looked at Thor, and had stolen his first kiss from her lips while she’d slept.  She’d tasted of honey and sunlight, of things bright and warm and beautiful.  When he had been caught, the hair he had given her in return was black as night.  Then he was the one she mirrored, though he knew she loathed the reflection, despite how the dark locks enhanced her beauty in a way her golden mane never had.  

He didn’t care.  Sif would never have loved him, even if he had not done what he did.  She belonged to Thor, in heart and mind if not in body.  In time, she would have forgotten Loki completely.  But now she could never forget.  Every time she looked in the mirror, she would see her reflection and know it was _his_ doing.  If Loki could not have her love, he would take her hatred, for hate was still passion, and from passion desire could still be borne.  

And while his dreams of love had fled, his desire for her had only grown with the knowledge that Asgard had all but marked her as Thor’s.  He had always coveted what his brother possessed, and Sif was no different.  But unlike the throne of Asgard— _unlike Odin’s love, the bastard son of a Frost Giant could never have Odin’s love—_ Sif was attainable.  Thor was completely unaware of her feelings, especially now that he had that little mortal woman to amuse himself with.  Surely, given time, Sif’s love would turn to resentment— _as his had, as his always did_ —and she would seek out someone who had never ignored her: him.  

Then he would have her, would experience all that breathtaking battle lust unleashed upon a different field of combat.  But this would be a field _he_ would dominate; the Goddess of War was a maid yet, while despite being the unwanted younger prince Loki had his fare share of conquests to boast of.  The thought of Sif, strong, defiant, beautiful Sif, at his mercy was a fine thing indeed, and when the time came Loki intended to savor every moment of it.  He would mark her again, claiming her as his, so that she would never be able to give herself fully to Thor.  Nor would she wish to, for in order for her to share his bed she would have to hate his brother as much as he did—as much as Loki was certain she now hated him.

Sif was passion and warmth and _fire_ —but against her he was _ice_ and he would freeze her heart until it was as cold as his own.


	2. Natasha

Natasha was calm and ruthlessness and _ice_.  She clung to the shadows, not needing anyone to tell her how deadly she was.  She knew, those around her knew, and at the end of the day her enemies knew—anyone else’s opinion was of no consequence to the Black Widow.

                As her enemy, Loki knew all too well what Natasha was capable of.  While she lacked the brute force of her male teammates, she more than made up for it in intelligence and deception.  Furthermore, unlike certain of her teammates— _the good Captain, his oaf of a brother_ —she was not afraid to fight dirty if it got the job done.  

                He’d made that mistake, once, of assuming because she was an ally of Thor’s that she was kindhearted and noble—in other words, _weak_.  And oh, Natasha had made him pay for that one.  His bruised pride was still recovering from having been outsmarted by a _mortal_ , of all things.  But as she now belonged to the privileged few who had managed to outsmart him, he quickly stopped treating the Black Widow as a pawn.  Natasha was a worthy opponent in the games he played against the Avengers, a status very few of her associates— _Thor, Fury, the Son of Coul, the Captain, Stark only in his dreams_ —had earned.  She had unquestionably won his respect and admiration—in more ways than one.

                He wanted her.  Of course he wanted her—what man wouldn’t?  She was five feet of death wrapped in an alluring package: sinful curves accented by her skin-tight black suit, ice-pale skin over lithe muscle, soft curls that looked as though they were dyed with her victims’ blood, cold green eyes that reflected his.  The way she moved in battle was like watching a living art form, jumping and twisting like her namesake.  When she wove her body around an enemy to throw him to the ground, he couldn’t help but picture her twined around him like that, her lethal thighs clenching in ecstasy.  

                But it wasn’t just the sight of her in battle that drove him wild.  Watching her building webs of deceit around unsuspecting targets gave him quite a thrill—mainly because he’d met only a handful of women in his incredibly long life who were as adapt at lies and trickery as Natasha.  She could change one mask for another without so much as blinking, and she never let her mask fall until it was far too late for anyone to stop her.  Her mind was as dangerous and magnificent as her body, and he found himself craving the company of both.  

                It was not love.  He’d given up on having any kind of love in his life the moment he’d let go of Gungnir and plunged into the void of the collapsing Bifrost.  But it was a longing for companionship, a wish for a bedmate that could satisfy his desires and match him intellectually.  Natasha was a frozen mirror to him; she belonged by his side and in his bed.  The fact that she was his enemy only made her inevitable conquest that much sweeter.

                He had kissed her only once so far, had pinned her to a wall and crushed his mouth against hers while her teammates were preoccupied with his latest round of mischief.  He’d tasted mint on her tongue, crisp and icy, but mingled with sweat in a salty contrast.  She’d bitten his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he’d jerked back from her with a hiss, only to stop short when he saw the heat in her gaze. Instead of letting her go, as had been his first instinct, he’d kissed her again, harder, and this time the sharp, metallic tang of his blood mingled with her taste, giving her lips a sweet, dark flavor he wanted to savor again and again.  When she’d kissed him back, her body melting against his, he’d believed he had her.  But then his brother’s voice had rung through the air— _damn Thor to the depths of Niefelheim, he always interfered_ —Natasha had gone rigid before fighting against him, and he had been forced to release her.  He had not seen any such heat from her since, her emotions even more tightly controlled in his presence than they’d been before.

                He wanted more than anything to feel that passion from her again.  He knew she wanted him, had seen it in her eyes.  But Natasha was the kind of woman who would submit to no one, not even a god.  Her pride would never allow her to give in to him, would keep her frozen walls strong and her senses vigilant.  A woman like her, especially one trained as she was in the arts of seduction, would never fall prey to a slow, orchestrated infiltration.  Patience would aid him in dealing with the Black Widow, but it was far from the solution.

                No, with Natasha what was needed was pressure.  Subtlety was her playground, so he needed to be forcefully uncomplicated.  Rough wooing was what would win her over: threats of pain and pleasure whispered through her dreams, a too-intimate touch in the middle of a fight, a harsh kiss when he had her at his mercy.  He would never dream of actually forcing her— _there were some things even he would not stoop to—_ but he would not need to.  If he could push Natasha far enough, drive her mad with desire until her pride no longer mattered, then she would willingly give herself to him, if only to end her torment.  

                And once she was his, nothing would stop him from bringing out that fire inside of her that he’d only barely glimpsed.  He would shatter that frigid, flawless façade and see the real Natasha hidden beneath, the hot-blooded, sensual creature that had returned his kiss and melded her body to his.  In the end, he would have nothing less than her complete and utter surrender, and the thought of having Natasha—proud, fierce, ravishing Natasha—at his mercy was thrilling.  She would hate him for it, but he didn’t care; hate was still passion, and he didn’t care how she was consumed with it, just so long as he could burn with her.

                Natasha was calm and ruthlessness and _ice_ , but against her he was _fire_ and he would melt away her flawless control until she lost herself in him forever.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Battle Lust - Sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/738415) by [captain_subtext](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_subtext/pseuds/captain_subtext)




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